‘Know what? I think she’s playing with us,’ Ron says. ‘You had a good time Friday night, didn’t you, girl? I think you want some more.’

‘Let’s do her right here,’ says Dante. Reaching up, he grabs Lilith by her ankles.

‘Get off me!’ She kicks at Dante and Ron as they drag her down, pinning her to the ground.

‘Hey, come on, easy guys.’ Brett backs away, but is unable to tear his eyes away as Dante pulls up Lilith’s skirt, grabbing for her underpants.

This time, a fully sober Lilith slips inside the nexus.

She immediately springs to her feet, rising through invisible waves of energy. Ron and Dante’s expressions morph into disbelief as she lunges for them, grabs them by the hair, and smashes their skulls together with all her might.

The violent collision sends blood and bone spouting in slow motion through gelatinous waves of energy.

Lilith stares at the dueling crimson streams, then turns her attention to Brett.

The boy has turned and is attempting to flee.

Lilith kicks him in the buttocks, launching him facefirst into the side of the steel trash bin.

The bruised teen collapses. Bleeding and barely conscious, he struggles to crawl away on all fours.

‘Finish him.’

Lilith turns in shock, the nexus suddenly filled with an icy aura.

The old man is tall and gray-haired, his appearance striking. A long aquiline nose, like that of a hooked eagle, dominates his wrinkled Mesoamerican face. The left eye is a piercing azure-blue, the right eye hazel and lazy, always glancing sideways. Loose silky white clothing hangs from his bony frame.

‘Who are you?’

‘You know who I am.’

‘Uncle Don? Why are you here?’

‘I’m here to guide you. Now finish the last one quickly, before someone sees you.’

‘I … can’t.’ She doubles over, the lactic acid buildup excruciating.

Don Rafelo seems to glide through the invisible waves of energy as he approaches. ‘You can’t finish him because you’re weak. Move aside and learn.’ Don Rafelo reaches down to Brett. Gripping the boy’s skull in the knotty fingers of his right hand, he twists, shattering the boy’s cervical vertebrae, severing the spinal cord.

Brett collapses flat on his face—dead.

Don Rafelo turns to Ron and Dante and inhales deeply, ‘tasting’ their diminishing life forces. ‘You did well. These two are close to death. Help me get them into the trash bin.’

Lilith complies.

The trash truck will arrive three hours later. By nightfall, the remains of the three teens, along with the rest of the debris, will be deposited in a dirt pit located atop ‘Mount Trashmore,’ a man-made mountain of garbage located twenty miles south of Lake Okeechobee.

8:10 p.m.

The motel clerk fingers his goatee as Lilith lays the five crumpled twenty-dollar bills she has stolen from Quenton’s wallet upon the coffee-stained front desk.